


The Origin of the Deductionist

by misscassietaylor



Category: Sherlock (TV), Silent Hill
Genre: Gen, Horror, Mild Language, Silent Hill - Freeform, silent hill au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscassietaylor/pseuds/misscassietaylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are pushed past their limits when they're launched into the nightmare-ish world of Silent Hill. How will they cope with this huge change of their trip to meet Lestrade? Would they even survive the trek across the town? Very strictly based off of Silent Hill: Origins. It follows the same story line, but with Sherlock and John at it instead. Enjoy! Johnlock is not present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. EPILOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> This is just an idea I had. It stays pretty close to the storyline of Silent Hill Origins, if you've played the game. A lot of it will sound familiar. If you haven't, but you're a SH fan, go ahead and enjoy! I recommend playing the game. It's quite good.  
> Critique is good and accepted! Be however harsh you wish, I won't be offended or put off. I love all feedback. Most of all, enjoy!  
> There is no Johnlock in this fic. As an avid fan, I looked for a place to put it, but it just seemed out of character in this context. Hopefully you enjoy it nonetheless.  
> Yes, this chapter is a bit short, but I'm having a bit of trouble finding out when to put chapter breaks according to the game. Bear with me: chapters will not have consistent lengths. :)

The deep blue truck sped around the corner, tires splashing the puddles in the gutter of the road. However, the sky was now clear and the outside world clear of rain or precipitation of any kind. The pair inside were growing weary of the long car ride that they had both endured so far, and dreaded the longer route ahead.

"Sherlock claims he knows a shortcut to your location, Lestrade. Though he's not familiar with the area. I'm not sure how I feel about that." John casted a sideways glance at the consulting detective at the wheel who stubbornly ignored the comment and continued driving, eyes trained blankly at the road. There was a pause. "Right, well, there's a road that cuts right through an old town. Silent Hill or something like that?" He shrugged, neither caring about the name of the town, nor bothering to correct himself. "Right, well, we'll see how it goes. I'll call you back within the next few hours." And with that, John clicked the call off and tossed his phone on the dashboard.

The two rode in silence for a few minutes, and they came across a wooden, weather-worn sign that read: BRAHMS 13MILES. Sherlock inhaled. "Following Silent Hill. We'll cut the time in half John." John grimaced, and stared out the window, not replying. It was beginnning to darken, adn the sun was settling over the horizon; the sky darkening and a vague later of fog settling in over the road. They went on for a few more minutes, until Sherlock begged John to let him stop over for a smoke break. John reluctantly agreed and he found himself leaning against the car next to Sherlock, inhaling the second hand smoke with a small frown resting on his lips.

Sherlock drew in a deep breath from the cigarette, and leaned over to put it out against the car, but something in the mirror caught his eye. He paid it no mind, concluding that it was simply a trick of the lack of adequate light and the amount of fog that covered his vision, but then he stopped dead when he saw the figure _again_. He whipped around a saw a girl about a half mile down the road.

"John," Sherlock whisperd, "look." He gestured down the road a ways, and John looked in the direction, tilting his head at the girl. She looked no more than 12 years old, wearing a deep purple dress with a lace-like collar. The dress had long sleeves that covered her wrists, and was just as modest in the length of the skirt. John took a step forward.

"Hey, you alright?" He called to the girl, who only turned to look at him for only a few seconds before turning her back and running down the road with no reply. "No, wait!" John called, but to no avail, the girl kept dashing down the asphalt, slowly disappearing amongst the fog. John started to run after her, but Sherlock caught his shoulder.

"What are you doing," Sherlock looked into John's eyes, with that expression he used when John was doing something sentimental that Sherlock didn't understand.

"She might need help, Sherlock!" Sherlock stood there for a moment, thinking. He then released his grip and briskly walked along with John, descending away from the familiarality of their vehicle and followed the obvious path to find the mysterious girl.


	2. Chapter One

The pair walked for a credible amount of time, turning on the curves and trudging along. John spotted a sign in the distance, much like the one for Brams a few miles back. He couldn't quite make it out in the fog, but when they got closer, he saw that it read: Welcome to Silent Hill. He glanced over at Sherlock a split second who seemed calm as ever. They slowed to a comfortable walk, staying silent and listening to their own footfalls against the pavement.

"Do you smell smoke?" John sniffed the air a few times, his head tilting his head up and furrowing his eyebrows.

"I've smelled it for the past half hour." Sherlock voiced smoothly, squinting against the thickening fog which seemed to be darkening in colour. John immediately jumped into a brisk jog, running further down the road. Sherlock, not wanting to lose his friend in the dangerous and blinding conditions, ran after him. Having such a long stride helped, and he quickly caught up with John and ran alongside him. Within minutes, John slowed his jog and stopped right in his place, staring up at the scene in front of him. Sherlock stopped as well, a few feet ahead of John, the same awed expression on his face as he assessed the situation. It was then that it clicked: The fog wasn't fog. It was all smoke.

Off the road to thier right was a tall, old wooden home that was not a home any longer, but a santuary of flames. The fire was eating at the rotted wood, quickly finding fuel for it's hunger. The flames licked out of windows, doors and any crack in the wood it could find, greedily engulfing the home. Sherlock spotted a figure at the side of the house. It wasn't the girl he saw from before, this figure was much too large to have been a child. He couldn't quite tell the gender, either. The figure slid from view, and disappeared behind the house. When Sherlock looked to John again, he was gone, and he looked over just in time to see John dashing in the firey home. Sherlock's eyebrows raised and he followed his friend, worried about the flames and the unstable state of the home.

"John, have you lost your mind?" Sherlock called over the roar of the flames. John turned around and faced Sherlock, sweat having already glistening on his brow and upper lip.

"There's someone in here! Still alive!" John replied before turning his back again and retreating back into the burning halls of the home.

Sherlock took in his surroundings while searching the bottom floor for the live being John had claimed to be in the home. _There's no way anyone could survive being in here. I'm dying slowly by simply being in here. What caused this? Obviously it wasn't natural. The oxygen is depleting. Whoever is here should be near death by now. I'm lightheaded with only moments of being here._ Sherlock walked the halls and searched the rooms with a quick pace, sweeping his eyes and keeping his ears perked for any sort of human-like sounds. He was about to find John to take him out of this death-trap when he heard the very man's voice calling out.

"Sherlock, I've found them! They're up here!" Sherlock heard the voice from above him. He found the stairs he had previously spotted and dashed up them, finding John at the room at the end of the first hallway. The room opened up to a large area, large pieces of burning wood having fallen and blocking easy access to John. Around him were scattered white candles. _Ah-hah._ As he came closer to John, he noticed that the body was surrounded by identical white candles. Most of them were still lit, which Sherlock found slightly humorous and he couldn't help but smile. _Some sort of ritual._ Upon further inspection—also, what Sherlock assumed, what caused John to hesitate at touching the person in the first place—Sherlock noticed a red sort of symbol beneath the burnt body. The body was definitely still alive, writhing against the painful burning. Sherlock didn't recognize the symbols that were inside the circle, but he paid them no mind; his immediate priority was this person and getting John out alive.

John reached down to pick the person up, but jumped back when it spoke. "Let me burn," it had said in a raspy, choked voice. Sherlock stared down at the body, in complete battle with his mind and his eyes. The doctor waited a few moments, gathering his courage and bending over to pick up the person, despite their struggles to get away.

"You're coming with us," he had said and firmly kept the person in his arms. They fell limp, giving up and letting itself get carried out by the charitable man. John rised with the person in their arms and knew by their frail frame that they didn't have much time. Their body would soon loose consciousness and slowly die from oxygen shortage. John felt the skin beneath his own, and it felt extremely warm, almost burning. He, too, questioned how this person could be conscious much less alive. They must be in excruciating pain, he thought, and his heart quickly went out to this person.

He didn't much remember the way out of the home, but he noticed the heat of the building quickly rising, parts of the roof falling at random, and nearly getting hit by flying sparks. He had to, at one point, dodge a falling piece of debris and nearly hurt both himself and the person in his arms in the process. John still couldn't tell by glance the gender of whom he was carrying, but he saw that whatever hair the person had before had now gone, the flesh beneath having burned at an extremety.

"Sherlock, we need to get out _now_ ," John called, his breath quickening, and finding it hard to speak at all with fluency.

Sherlock ignored and failed to reply, remembering the way, but also being confused by the added debris that threw off his direction. He turned a corner, and a piece of the flooring snapped and broke off, sending both him and John tumbling a whole floor below. He tried his best to land on his feet, but one foot slipped beneath him and he landed right on one of his knees. John hadn't been so lucky, as he landed on his back with a sickeningly loud thud. He heard John groan along with himself, but neither stayed to pity themselves or nurse their wounds. John raised himself to his feet with much effort, but found himself lightheaded and stumbling when he came to his full height. He caught Sherlock's eye and nodded. They both trudged their way out of the house, taking a few confused turns but eventually making their way from the burning home.

The outside air was a relief to them and their skin was met with a generously cool breeze, the heat mostly on their backs. Both men walked a few feet from the house before John fell to his knees and let the younger person roll from his arms. Sherlock fell as well, and his head hit the ground hard. John turned to see that Sherlock was no longer conscious and he crawled over weakly.

"Sherlock," he rasped, before falling next to the detective, his eyes falling shut. The last thing he heard of his consciousness was a faraway sound of a siren, much similar to one of bombs or viscious weather, then his mind went blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is appreciated. Keep look out for the next chapter.


End file.
